


Reap What You Sow

by ASongofIceandHope



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Implied Jonerys, OOC behavior, Post-season 7, Rape, Scheming Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASongofIceandHope/pseuds/ASongofIceandHope
Summary: Jon returns to Winterfell with Daenerys and her army. Sansa finds her emotions get the best of her, and she unknowingly wakes the dragon.*Do NOT expect a heroic Jon in this. This is angst, and he is not the Jon we know and love in this fic*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If D&D can do character assassination, then so can I.
> 
> Anyway, because D&D give me angst in my life, I decided to work this out with Jonsa. I know deep down Jon would never, ever, EVER do the things he does to Sansa in this fic, which is why this is tagged as "Dark Jon Snow." 
> 
> This is where we are, folks.

“Sansa, listen to me.”

His voice was gruff and low as they stood in the lord’s chambers. She wasn't looking at him, wasn't letting him get a word in otherwise. He was back, sure, but he was different. He'd changed. 

He’d fucked another woman.

Not that Sansa had cared—at first. At the time, she had been weary (Robb had paid the price for a similar union), but the promise of dragons seemed like a good thing. Jon’s fly-by-night affair with Daenerys Targaryen had brought the missing piece to their fight against the Others. Dare she say it, she had been excited to have another strong, politically-minded woman around whom she could discuss strategy and supplies with while Jon trained with his men. It had all seemed like a decent enough plan. Until Sansa learned that Jon was in fact her cousin, and all the messy, dirty feelings she had tried to repress were not so sinful after all. And he had fucked his aunt. Without his knowing, of course, but it had happened.

And she was beautiful. Sansa herself felt like she could fall for her, and she'd never had a close relationship with another woman her age outside of Margaery Tyrell. But when she opened her mouth she spoke with such entitlement and privilege that Sansa had felt sick. Where was the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons? All Sansa saw was more of the same.

“No,” the waver in her own voice startled her as she spoke once more. “You didn't listen to me. I told you to be smarter than father, smarter than Robb! And all you've done—“

“She wants me to marry her,” he mumbled.

The words rattled around Sansa’s head like bells. But not cheerful bells; mourning bells. She finally turned from the fireplace to look at him. He still looked like her Jon, but he wasn't hers. 

“Get out,” she spat. “Get out now and go take up with that… that whore!”

“Sansa, I don't understand why you're so upset!” Jon shouted. “We have the army, we have the men that we need to fight the Others—“

“And when it’s all said and done you're going to fly off on a dragon and leave me here with Bran, who barely speaks and isn't even Bran anymore, and Arya, who wants to murder anyone who disagrees with you?” Sansa laughed wickedly, and she was alarmed that she was sounding like Cersei. But Cersei wouldn't settle for upsetting Jaime if they were having this fight. She'd find a way to get a reaction out of him; a reaction she could use later to her own advantage. “And they used to say my head was filled with songs…”

Jon’s brows furrowed and he grabbed her wrist. When he did, Sansa frowned. 

“Don't. Touch. Me,” she growled. Her other hand came flying up to hit him, but Jon had quicker reflexes than she and grabbed her other wrist. “So now you're some Targaryen brute? Is that it? Going to treat me like how Rhaegar treated your mother, are you?” Sansa felt the bitterness on her tongue when the sentence left her lips, but when Jon’s eyes flashed with rage she knew she'd struck a nerve. She knew it wasn't likely that Rhaegar had raped Lyanna, but it was the version of events they all had grown up with hearing. 

“You,” his grip tightened around her wrists and Sansa winced, “talk too much. Everything I have done, Sansa, has been for the North. Has been for our house—“

“Mine and Arya’s and Bran’s, you mean,” Sansa corrected. “You were right, Jon. You're not a Stark.” 

Something furious glinted in Jon’s eyes as he released her and shoved her back onto the bed. Before Sansa could roll away, he was on top of her, one hand pinning her wrists above her head while the other covered her mouth.

“You are going to listen to me, Sansa,” he scowled. “Everything I have done I have done for the North, for our house, and for you.” 

Sansa didn't want to hear it. 

Her teeth clamped down on the side of his hand and Jon shouted in surprise. It was then that Sansa realized that she had woken the dragon that had long lain dormant, hidden beneath a wolf’s pelt. His hand wrapped around her throat and he squeezed. Sansa's breathing grew ragged and her chest heaved as she tried to breathe. 

“You’re a hateful woman,” Jon hissed as he began to unlace his trousers with his free hand. “Why have the gods made me love a hateful woman?”

“Jon… don't…” she rasped as he reached up and tore away her underskirt. Now that his trousers were unlaced, his free hand, calloused and rough from years of wielding a sword cupped her sex. Sansa was ashamed that arguing with him had aroused her, and she could feel his fingers slipping through her folds to feel her wetness. His grip around her throat had lessened, but it hadn't left. 

“You don't tell me what to do anymore, Sansa,” Jon grunted before he buried his length inside of her. Sansa cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Never in all her years had she expected Jon to hurt her like that.

He pounded into her mercilessly, and Sansa whimpered helplessly beneath him. He was her king. The rightful king of all of Westeros. He could take what he wanted with fire and blood even in winter because the blood of the First Men flowed through his veins right along with the blood of Old Valyria. He had claim to the North and the South. 

And when she reminded herself of that, Sansa got an idea.

Slowly, she relaxed, amazed at how long Jon was lasting. Ramsay had never lasted so long. Ramsay hadn't been so big, either. She wrapped her legs around his hips and began to moan in forced pleasure. Jon silenced her with a kiss and she bit down hard on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. This sent Jon into a frenzy; he nipped at her lips, at her jaw, at her neck; any exposed skin he could find he riddled with bite marks. He was so distracted by the task at hand that he didn't bat an eye at spending inside her. 

“Are we understood, Sansa?” he questioned as he pulled away and put himself back together.

“You shouldn't marry her,” Sansa replied. “Your claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than hers, and she knows it. She intends to undermine you. But… yes, your grace. We are understood.” She rose to her feet, slowly, to make sure not all of his seed rolled down her thighs. 

“Aye, I shouldn't marry her,” Jon agreed. His conscience had yet to return to him, which Sansa took as a good sign. It would be months before he had overcome the inevitable shame he would feel for taking her like a monster, and by then her plan would—hopefully—be in motion.

Because by the time he came back to her, his seed would likely have quickened and she could give him the one thing Daenerys Stormborn could not: an heir.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's plan begins to unfold. Jon returns from the war. Tensions and obsessions flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so surprised by all the responses and reactions this fic generated that I decided I wouldn't let you all hanging! So here is part two!

Jon left Winterfell the very next morning with his aunt and their army. Sansa could tell that the men of the North were weary of him, now that he was a dragon, but they had pledged their swords to him and were men of honor. They were more honorable than their king, at least. Arya left with Jon, much to Sansa’s relief; before they had agreed to kill Littlefinger they had been at each other’s throats for too long. 

The months passed, and Sansa’s belly swelled with child. Some of those that remained at Winterfell gave her judgmental looks, but she ignored them. Her plan had worked. Jon’s seed had quickened inside her and now he would pay dearly for his decision to try and hurt her. 

Slowly, the babe became her only comfort. Samwell Tarly and Gilly were kind enough to her, but they were both so steadfastly loyal to Jon that it made her sick. Jon had his own blind followers, just like his aunt. So she would take to her chambers instead, huddled under warm furs and drinking herbal tea prepared for her by Maester Wolkan. The babe grew and grew, and he (she was fairly certain it was a he) had a mighty kick. Some small part of her was worried about mothering a babe that would be born a bastard. But it was just the sort of medicine Jon deserved. He'd always feared fathering a bastard—perhaps that was why he laid with the barren Dragon Queen—and now his fears would be come reality.

It was a bracingly cold night when her waters broke. Maester Wolkan and Samwell both came to her chambers to help with the delivery. She screamed so loud that she felt she could bring down the Wall, but it was worth it when the babe’s wails filled the room. 

“Strong lungs,” Samwell chuckled as he helped Maester Wolkan clean Sansa and the babe up.

Sansa smiled tiredly and watched as Maester Wolkan swaddled the newborn. “A son, my lady,” he stated softly. The babe fussed as he was placed in Sansa’s arms, and she was overjoyed when she pushed back the blanket around his head to reveal a mop of auburn curls. There wasn't a hint of his father in him, and Sansa was delighted. 

“What are you going to call him, Lady Sansa?” Sam inquired, lingering to make sure she didn't need anything more of him or Maester Wolkan. 

“Robb,” she replied without hesitation. “For my brother.” 

The next few weeks were filled with people coming and going, praising her newborn and cooing over him. Older women who could remember her oldest brother remarked that little Robb looked just like Robb had when he’d arrived at Winterfell from Riverrun all those years ago. It made Sansa happy that her look had won out over Jon’s, just like her mother’s had won out over the Stark look in most of her children. 

She was sitting in her chambers with Robb in her arms—she rarely put him down except for to sleep—when word came that the men had returned from the front. Sansa dressed in her best gown and twisted her hair up into a style she had seen her mother wear many times. Her new cloak was heavier and more intimidating than her old one, and far warmer. She bundled Robb up in furs and carried him out to the courtyard.

Down below, the remainder of the Northern forces spilled into the courtyard. Many were sharing tearful reunions with their ladies and their children, while other women and children were crying out of loss. Jon was moving amongst them, delivering the bad news to every lady who had lost a husband. 

Sansa searched for Arya in the crowd, but couldn't spot her. Her heart sunk; despite how they had fought, she was her sister. And she'd wanted to introduce her to Robb. 

A young man who looked alarmingly like Robert Baratheon whispered into Jon’s ear and his gaze flitted upward to look at her. Ever the Stark, his emotions betrayed him for a moment when he realized just what she was holding, but his sense of propriety returned to him as he mounted the stairs to see her. 

“Sansa,” he greeted. 

“Your grace,” she nodded indifferently as she looked down at Robb. The babe cooed and smiled a little gummy smile. Jon looked as well.

“Is he mine?” he questioned. 

“Maybe,” Sansa replied as she turned her back to him and began to walk the ramparts. It wasn't as cold as it once had been, and fresh air was good for babies. “But perhaps he isn't.” He followed her, as she'd expected, and Sansa had to bite back a smirk.

“Sansa, don't play these games with me,” he hissed. “Is he or isn't he mine?” Jon grabbed her shoulder and turned her around to face him.

“Yes,” Sansa smirked. “He is your bastard, Jon. I named him Robb. Robb Snow.” 

She could see his own disgust with himself grow in his eyes. Not only had he taken advantage of her and raped her, but she had given birth to his bastard. He'd sworn a long time ago that he wouldn't father a bastard, Sansa knew. Yet here they were. 

“I'll marry you,” he said finally. 

“So I can be second to Daenerys Targaryen?” Sansa scoffed. “You insult me, Jon. After all, she's barren, is she not? I can give you children. Children you'll need to secure your house.”

“Daenerys is dead,” Jon mumbled. “Sacrificed herself… I don't want to talk about it. Let me marry you, Sansa.”

“No,” she frowned as she started back toward the stairs so she could put Robb down for his nap. Jon followed her still into the nursery, that was decorated with wolves and other northern things. He watched as she set little Robb down in his cradle; she had always been good with children. But as soon as their child was out of her hands, he grabbed her and pulled her against him. 

“You would dare refuse your king?” he growled. “I can give you everything you've ever wanted, Sansa. The Red Keep waits for us. All those silly little dreams of marrying a prince can die because you will marry a king.” 

“Is that a demand?” she hissed as she pulled herself from his grasp. 

Jon chuckled and tangled his fingers in her hair as he pulled her head back. His lips attacked her neck. “Would you do as your king demands?” he murmured against her skin. “Would you be obedient to me, Sansa? Sit at my side in the throne room and be docile and sweet?” She pushed against his chest, but Jon would not budge. 

“Stop it,” she muttered. Jon frowned and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered. Sansa shook her head and the grip on her chin tightened. “Say it, Sansa. Tell your king you love him. Get on your knees and say it.” Jon forced her down and Sansa gasped in surprise. 

“One should never lie to a king, your grace,” she remarked. 

Her gaze wandered from his to the front of his trousers. The bulge she found there was undeniable, and she couldn't believe it. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, King in the North and Rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was hard at the sight of her on her knees. Sansa remembered Cersei telling her that her best weapon was what's between her thighs, and while she could not offer that to him for a few weeks or so, she pressed her lips against the bulge and ran her tongue over it.

“Sansa…” Jon hummed. “Say you love me.”

“I love you, your grace,” she purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments/kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry accidentally gives Jon an idea on how to play the game with Sansa. Sansa continues to bond with little Robb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that you guys love sick, twisted Jon. It's nice to take a normally heroic, noble character and have them do a total 180.  
> So thank you for reading and loving this!!

Jon sat in his own chambers a few nights after his return with Gendry. Despite the fact that his father and Jon’s birth father had tried to kill each other—and Robert had succeeded in killing Rhaegar—they decided to continue their friendship since Ned Stark had been the man to raise him. They both were nursing mugs of ale as a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. 

“I don't know what you're so upset about,” Gendry remarked as he sat back in his seat. “Sansa is just playing a game with you. But you're a king. If you want her, go and get her.”

A bitter chuckle escaped Jon’s lips; it wasn't as if he hadn't thought about it. But he had no idea how the North would react to the Lady of Winterfell being spirited away by a Targaryen king, let alone the son of the man whose elopement with a Stark girl had started a war so many years ago. Still, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to take what was his. Ever since he had become a dragon rider, he'd found that he tended to have some more Targaryen tendencies. Apparently wanting to steal away Stark girls was one of them. 

“I believe our fathers fought a war because of a Targaryen stealing a Stark girl,” Jon reminded. “Besides, she isn't… Sansa, right now. I feel like Jaime Lannister.”

“But she isn't your sister,” his drinking companion argued. “And she has had your son. I'm not saying kidnap her, Jon, but if you want to do right by her there's nothing saying you can't… arrange for her to marry you. That means your son will be legitimate, and you'll have an heir.” 

Originally, Jon had intended to name Sansa his heir. It would have been an easy way to keep an eye on her, and with Littlefinger gone he didn't have to worry about knives in his back. But now that their son—Robb, of all the names; she really knew how to tug on his heartstrings—existed there was no need. Sansa would know that. But both his father’s house and House Stark had all but been decimated, and having more children would be a good thing. If she was practical, she would have accepted his offer. 

“That is true,” Jon mused. 

After Gendry left, Jon began to make a plan. He knew Sansa’s daily routine down the most minuscule details. She rose at dawn and usually bathed, then went to the great hall to break her fast. Her wet nurse would then bring her Robb when he woke, and she would nurse him right there at the table. Then she would walk through the courtyard with Robb in her arms and greet the household. Afterward, she’d retire to her chambers and work on some needlework or correspondence with the lords of the North until her midday meal. Robb would go with her. She was fairly safe and around others until she took Robb to the nursery at night to put him in bed. The hallway around the nursery was very dark; he could hide in the shadows until she appeared, and grab her. 

The thought whirled through his mind all night. When the sun came up, he went about his daily routine as much as possible. He couldn't afford for Sansa to feel suspicious. She was clever, so he needed to be cleverer. 

After her midday meal, Jon summoned her to his chambers. Sansa came with Robb in her arms, and gently bounced him. “You called for me, your grace?” she asked. 

“How is our son?” he inquired, rising from the chair he sat in. Sansa managed a polite smile and let him look at Robb. Bright blue eyes met dark ones, and Robb cooed softly up at his father. “He looks like Robb. You named him well.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Sansa stated. Robb reached up for Jon and she frowned. 

“May I?” Jon reached for Robb and Sansa allowed him to hold him. She would never admit it, but her heart fluttered at the sight of them together. Robb batted playfully at Jon’s nose as he spoke softly to him. “Hello, sweet boy. I'm your papa. And you… are a little prince. Mama isn't a queen yet, but papa will change that soon enough. The three of us will go live in a big red castle, and mama will have lots more babies so you can have playmates. Would you like that, Robb?” Robb squealed at Jon’s words. “I thought so. Papa loves you, sweet boy. And so does mama, even though she won't let papa do right by you and marry her.”

“Jon…” Sansa huffed. 

He looked up at her and smirked. “What, my love?” he inquired innocently. “You grew up with a pack of siblings to play with. Surely you wouldn't want to deny our son the same joys of childhood?” Without saying another word, he placed Robb back in her arms. 

Sansa turned to leave, not bothering to get permission.

“Wait,” Jon hummed. “Say you love me, Sansa.” 

“Jon, please. I'm tired and—“

“I don't like you when you whine, Sansa,” he sighed. “And I made a simple request of you. Just say you love me and I will let you go on your way.”

Sansa bit back what she really wanted to say, and plastered on a charming smile for him. “I love you, my king,” she mumbled. Jon smirked and dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and she headed straight to her chambers. Robb squealed in protest at her hurried, uneven gait, but Sansa needed to her away from it all and clear her head. She laid in bed with Robb sleeping on her chest. How something so pure and innocent had come from her and Jon she didn't understand. Ever since Jon had learned about his birth it was as if another side of him had been awakened, and he seemed fixated on her. 

“You are my boy, little dove,” she murmured, gently running a hand through his wispy curls. “Everything I do, I do for you.”

When night came, she carried Robb back to the nursery. He was already fast asleep, and Sansa found that her heart swelled even more when he slept in her arms. He was such a good baby, and she would guarantee he knew nothing but love as he grew. 

She had almost made it to the door when a strong hand reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into the shadows. Robb didn't wake at the sudden motion, and Sansa tried to scream but a gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Soon she was gagged so no one could hear her yell. When she finally looked at her attacker, she wasn't really surprised. 

“We’re going south, my queen,” Jon whispered. “And you will stop fighting me.” 

Sansa responded with a muffled protest, but Jon simply threw her over his shoulder after settling Robb in his other arm. He carried her to he stables and set her down on a bale of hay with Robb as he saddled his horse. “You won't run,” he scolded. 

Once his horse was prepared, he put Sansa atop it before placing Robb in her arms. Then he mounted behind her, taking the reins and riding out of the courtyard before anyone could tell they were missing. 

Sansa vaguely realized that it was likely the last time she would see Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand Jon has won. Or has he? We'll find out in part 4.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Don't forget to leave comments/kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Jon's actions are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this definitely starts out happy but then we do see Dark Jon reappear at the end. Just so y'all know.

_Seven Years Later_

The sound of children’s laughter rang through the halls of the Red Keep. Jon and Sansa’s little wolf pack had grown quickly, as Sansa learned that as mad as she could get at Jon she could not say no to him in bed. Robb was followed by a second son a year after, named Benjen. Then two years after Benjen, a little girl arrived. They named her Lyanna, for Jon’s mother. At the time, she had been the only one of the children to have the Stark look; the older boys had the red hair and blue eyes of House Tully. Right on Lyanna’s heels was another son. He was the surprise; when he was pulled from Sansa he had a full head of silver-blond hair on his head. Jon named him Aemon, and he was the only one of their children to bear a Targaryen name. And most recently, Sansa had given birth to another daughter. She had the Tully look, and Sansa had fought with Jon incessantly until he let her name her Catelyn. 

Sansa was seated at Jon’s side as he held court in the throne room of the Red Keep. Little Catelyn was in her arms; she was about two months old and the most beautiful baby Sansa had ever seen. Many of the women commented that she would look like her someday. 

Jon was almost finished exchanging words with his cousin by law, Robin Arryn, when the doors to the room burst open and the four oldest Targaryen children burst in. 

“Papa! Papa!” Lyanna shouted as she skipped up toward the throne, her brown braids bouncing at her shoulders. “We went down to the beach, and Robb caught a fish, but he let it go…” she pouted slightly and Jon tried his best to hide his amusement at his children's antics. He rose to his feet and stepped off the dais the Iron Throne resided on and picked her up. 

“You left the castle without a guard?” he questioned. 

Lyanna shook her head, her big, dark eyes widening. “Of course not, papa!” she exclaimed. “Ghost went with us!” 

The great old direwolf slunk in behind the children. Sansa rarely said such things to Jon, but she felt as if the children wore Ghost down. But the wolf looked after the children as if they were his own pups, and took extra care of little Aemon. Many of the southern lords were still scared of Ghost, and sometimes Jon used that to his advantage when they were annoying him.

“And what would you have done if someone had hurt Ghost?” Jon inquired. “He's an old wolf, Lya.” The girl frowned and Sansa noticed how her lip began to quiver.

“That's enough of that,” Sansa sighed as she rose to her feet. “To your chambers, all of you. We will speak about this later.” The children all scuffled off toward their rooms, and Ghost tramped after them, nudging whichever one of them straggled with his snout. Without even needing to ask, the wet nurse swept in and took Catelyn for Sansa. She walked up to her husband and wrapped a hand around his arm, turning him to face her. “Don’t frighten her with such thoughts, your grace. She is a child; let her be a child. We’ve created a much better world for them.” Jon smiled softly at her and cupped her face in his hands. 

“And to think it would not exist if you had not finally agreed to marry me,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers. 

It hadn’t played out as cleanly as Jon’s words implied; when they had reached the Red Keep, Sansa had resisted every effort of his to try and sway her to marry him. With the new wealth of the crown, he had showered her in expensive gifts; jewels and gowns and furs all fit for a queen. But Sansa did not bat an eye. She would remain in her chambers—the queen’s chambers—and ignored him. Jon finally grew angry with her, and demanded her presence in the king’s solar one evening. He successfully seduced her that night, conceiving Benjen in the process, and Sansa had agreed breathlessly to marry him. 

“You want to rush away to bed, don't you, my king?” Sansa teased. She noticed that the hall was empty, and forced Jon back up to the throne. “We are alone now…” Jon raised a brow and watched as Sansa dropped to her knees in front of him and unlaced his trousers. 

“Sansa…” A small moan escaped his lips as she took his cock in hand and began to stroke him.

“You should give Robin the fighting men he needs,” she murmured, smirking as he hardened in her grasp. “As his king, it is your duty to make sure your kingdoms are secure. And the men of the Vale have always been loyal to the crown, and friends to House Stark.” Jon rarely realized it, but she used their intimate moments together to influence how he ruled. 

“Very well,” he grunted. Sansa smiled sweetly up at him and pressed her lips against his length, her tongue peeping out to trace the vein on the underside of his cock. She took him into her mouth and Jon sighed, his fingers tangling in her thick, red hair as her head began to bob up and down. He loved seeing her plump, pink lips wrapped around his cock. The fact that she was willing to get on her knees in the throne room was just an added pleasure. “Good, Sansa… so good…” She hummed appreciatively around him and Jon moaned aloud. Before long, his seed splashed the back of her throat and Sansa pulled back with a satisfied smirk. 

Jon’s mind drifted to Tyrion’s words earlier in the week; his Hand suspected that Sansa was using his affection for her to manipulate him. At the time, Jon had dismissed his suspicions. But as he looked at the pride shining in her eyes, he began to believe him. 

“Have you been using me, Sansa?” he purred, leaning toward her and stroking her face. 

Her eyelashes fluttered in an attempt to seem innocent. Jon saw right through it. “Of course not, my king,” she replied. “I would never do such a thing!” A low chuckle escaped Jon’s lips and Sansa tried her best to steel herself. His hand traveled down to her throat, and he gently stroked it. 

“I think you would,” he whispered. “You want to rule, so you've used me as a puppet.” Jon wrapped his hand around her throat and began to squeeze then. 

“No…” Sansa gasped. “I… would never…” her breath became raspy and she clawed at Jon's hands. 

“Tell me,” Jon growled. “Tell me you love me, Sansa.” 

His eyes were shining with something that could only be summed up to be Targaryen madness. Tears pricked Sansa’s eyes and she nodded. Her words escaped her as she could barely breathe, but her desperate nod was enough for Jon. He threw her down and she bit back a sob. 

“I… am the mother of your children,” she spat. “How could you ever think that I would use you in such a way?” Jon rose to his feet and walked past her. He was just off the dais when he turned back to her and frowned.

“I don't believe you, Sansa,” he stated. “But you're mine. You best remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jon is onto Sansa, but she's influenced him basically the entire time. So who won their game? Or have they both reaped what they've sown?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Don't forget kudos/comments!

**Author's Note:**

> So Jon is turning into Jaime (catch that line, y'all? Not gonna lie, I love that line even if that scene is awful and horrible) and Sansa is looking to her time with Cersei to scheme and put everyone in their place. She's always two steps ahead.
> 
> Please don't be mad at me for reacting to D&D with this!


End file.
